


you carve the rotten things inside of me out and set them alight

by Catherines_Collections



Category: Twilight Series - All Media Types, Twilight Series - Stephenie Meyer
Genre: Book: New Moon, Depersonalization, Depression, Dissociation, F/F, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Mutual Pining, New Moon Rewrite, POV Second Person, Pre-Eclipse, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-22
Updated: 2017-11-22
Packaged: 2019-02-05 09:20:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12791517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Catherines_Collections/pseuds/Catherines_Collections
Summary: You missed her. Missed her smile and eyes, sharp teeth and familiar face.But you won’t tell her that, no. Because the walls of your mind are still too fragile, the ocean still beckons you like an old friend in need of new company, and the name Edward still stings like a fresh burn.And this is nice: what you two have. How she visits, smiling and answering a question you don’t remember asking, while you think.It’s nice, and you won't allow yourself to ruin it.





	you carve the rotten things inside of me out and set them alight

**Author's Note:**

> I've had this idea in my head for a while, second person is my favorite POV, so I combined these two and finally finished writing it. 
> 
> I can't believe I wrote a Twilight fic, but I did.
> 
> I own nothing, please enjoy.

You dream of the ocean too much.

Of waves crashing over you and saltwater filling your lungs, until that's what you become, until salt water is all you are and have ever been.  
  
Alice asks, _are you okay?_ and you don’t think you’ve ever seen her features twists so softly.

So you smile, and decide it's not a burden when she asks. You don't feel like you need to cry or shout if scream, so you say, "I'm fine."

And watch her face shift into something deflated, as if your answer has aged her in a way you know it can’t and she obviously doesn't believe you, but doesn't call your bluff.

You don’t say _I’m - happy, thankful, overjoyed, something - that you came back,_ or _how do you always know when i need you?_ Or _I’m so glad you’re here._

Instead, you offer her another smile. And eventually she smiles back. It means the same thing anyway. Probably.  
  
.

The first time she visits you - after they all leave, after Edward, after creatures of the night attempting to rip out your throat for fun - you don’t know what to say, or what to do.

Your first reaction is that it hurts. It hurts to see her face in your kitchen where you know she doesn’t belong anymore.

Maybe, in another time, you get angry instead of just hurt and tired. But here, you don’t question her too much when she first shows up. You listen to her talk, hands wrapped around a mug filled with something hot to drink, and nod along.

You almost ask if she wants something, think about then offering to slit your wrist in a number one dad mug, but then you remember the cliff and Jacob and that that’s probably why she’s here in the first place and decide against it.

She shows up occasionally after her first visit, each visit varying in time but occurring at your house.

Sometimes, towards the beginning, you wonder if she’s even here at all. If your brain has imagined her as some cruel joke that your heart can’t take.

Eventually, you stop questioning because you realize you don’t care.

Alice might not even be Alice, but at least she’s here.

You find solace in that, no matter how crazy you already know it sounds. With the way she looks at you sometimes, you wonder if she thinks it too.

.  
  
You mention it accidentally to Jacob - your longing for something crushing, smothering, overtaking and dangerous - once. You're too close to the cliff he saved you from and the fog around you gives you some kind of giddy confidence, and you can't remember the last time you felt something so strong.  
  
The waves beckon you with their thunderous sounds and how they disguise just how quiet it is underneath. You watch as their sharp edges collapse on and impale each other and your heartbeat quickens, something in your mind tells you run. But, god, you've never once been good at listening to it.  
  
You mention the idea to him briefly, about how cool the water must feel now with the weather edging closer and closer to winter, and he looks at you like you're mad.  
  
"You know, it's like when-” you grasp for something to say, something normal to compare this feeling of elation to because he’s looking at you like you’re crazy, like you’re a few seconds away from jumping off the cliff again yourself, and well- it strikes you that maybe you are. So you let your words fade off into, “It’s like swimming, in a community pool,” and your voice doesn’t hold any of the life it held only moments before.

You’re so tired suddenly. And Jacob’s presents becomes more of a bother than it was only seconds ago, and find your body wanting to just sag and fall onto the ground. You are so tired but still, for second you fear the possibility of Jacob rushing you back to Charlie and so you find the will to stay upright, because the last thing you want is for Jacob to convince your father to lock you away.

(Away from the supernatural he doesn’t know exist. Away from stone cold teenage boys, and then ones who are always too warm. Away from pale monsters lurking in the forest, and the distant howls that chase them into the shadows.

Away from the girl who visits you when the nights get too tough or long. Who has cheekbones as sharp as her teeth and skin as pale as the moon, and a smile deep as the waves you have to stop yourself from wanting to fall into.)

But instead he stares a moment longer before breaking into a light laugh, trying to erase the seriousness and tension from the conversation and regain control.

You don’t know why you ever assume so much of him.

He shakes his head, a smile making a way onto his lips that you find too cocky, too self-assured. You have half-a-mind to tell him so, but you’ve already crossed too many lines today.

“A swimming pool,” he laughs again. Your nails dig into your wrist where they are hidden in your sweater, “funny.”

You scoff and turn your head away, “Yeah, I get that a lot.”

You listen to him talk the rest of the way.  
  
.  
  
It's not long after that you see Alice again.  
  
She's leaning against the doorway to your bedroom when you get home. Charlie is out late with his friends and you're too tired to say anything other than, "Hi," and collapse on your bed.  
  
You pretend something inside of you doesn't curl when she smiles at you and you can see a few drops of blood caught in between her canines and running into the corners of her lips. You should tell her. You know she hates it when there is evidence left over. But she’s alone with you in your house and it’s safe and it feels like a secret: kept between just the two of you. You like how that feels.

She leans against your doorframe, and crosses her arms, "Hey yourself,”  
  
You don't ask what she's doing here, what she wants from you or what anyone in her family wants or needs, instead you walk past her to sit on your bed. She follows you in that too.  
  
You don't know what to say. What to ask or what pleasantries to exchange because something feels caught in your brain - snagged between the barely visible blood in Alice's teeth and the call of the water you can still hear from outside your window - so you settle on staring out of your window instead.

You don’t tell her about Jacob. About how you almost told him. About the all too often feeling you get to just submerge yourself and too never come up.

You don’t tell her, but you feel she already knows. You don’t know how to feel about that.  
  
Neither of you talk. Two sets of eyes only stare out the window as you allow your mind to empty itself before closing your eyes.  
  
(You don't see her when she looks at you. You don't see as her eyes scan your caving cheekbones with worry etched onto her own face, or how she listens for how slow your heart rate has become.

You don’t see it, but you can feel it and it’s almost, somehow, worse.)  
  
It was nice, you'll think later. Sitting at the dinner table with Charlie as he talks about the boys and the parents of the other kids from school, having her sitting in there with you: around.

You laugh at Charlie’s attempt at a joke, but your mind still wanders back to blood stained teeth and a warm presents where it should be cold.  
.

The yearning for the water strengthens and you begin to wonder have much time you have left: if any of this was ever in your control in the first place.

Alice visits less, Edward’s name is a danger in league of the ocean, and the world spins and spins like it’s trying to reach something it can’t.

You think you’re beginning to understand, in a way, inevitability and its charm.

.  


Alice visits again. Two weeks after her last, she says. But the days, of dreaming of water beyond the edge and staring at your ceiling searching for something you know isn’t there, mix up in your head so you nod along and wave off her apology.

You don’t know why she’s apologizing. She doesn’t owe you anything, and yet-

Yet, there’s something unspoken.

An invisible force that makes her apology take a weight off your chest you hadn’t realized was there. Something unspoken between you both that has you engaging and asking her questions until she’s smiling, and giggling, and you realize with an ache in your chest, that you missed her. Missed her smile and eyes, sharp teeth and familiar face.

But you won’t tell her that, no. Because the walls of your mind are still too fragile, the ocean still beckons you like an old friend in need of new company, and the name Edward still stings like a fresh burn.

And this is nice: what you two have. How she visits, smiling and answering a question you don’t remember asking, while you think. It’s nice how she visits when she doesn’t have to. How she’s trying to save you from something neither of you can see, and you’ve never told her about, but she still knows.

You never told Edward, and thinking back on it, you don’t think he ever noticed: not in the way Alice does, at least.  
  
Alice is nice. Nice like Jacob tries to be, nice like you thought Edward was, nice like the way the little lives of little families are supposed or fit together like puzzle pieces.  
  
It's nice and when you finally turn to Alice, when you see she’s staring at you and you wonder how long you’ve been lost in yourself and when she finished answering the question you don’t remember asking, when you see her smile has faded into something far too close to concern- too sharp teeth and sharper eyes and something in her now faded smile that makes something in you alive in a way you can't last remember happening - you find yourself asking, "Can you make is go away?"

You don't know what you are expecting when you ask it. You don’t know why you asked it, or why you let the words free, but it’s done and you’re too afraid to look at her, to see what you might find in her eyes, but you bring yourself to meet her gaze anyway.  
  
What you are not expecting is for her to lean down until your faces are nearly even as she brushes back your bangs so gently that if you had any more words in your throat they'd be gone, as her eyes to scan your face as worry attempts to bleed into perfect skin.  
  
"Oh, honey," she whispers, and all you can think is red teeth and crashing waves and her smile that you never remember memorizing but know anyway, and begin to miss it as she wears something too sad for her face in its place, "I don't think that's how it works."

It’s weird to address the unspoken invisible thing between you two. It’s odd that she already sees the problem in yourself, and it makes you wonder what else about you she sees. You wonder if she sees the ocean in your eyes, can feel the longing for the cliff in your skin, smell the salty breeze in your hair.

(It’s strange how the name Edward burns less in her presents, now: still painful, but a slight throbbing instead of blistering heat. You aren't ignorant enough to blame it on familiarity, and you think that might be your downfall.)  
  
Her answer is too kind for the questions, too battered and unplanned and coarse is the best word you can think of, and it's not like you were expecting anything different.

So, you shrug, say, "Okay," and muster up a small smile to repay her for losing her’s.

The waves still call, names still burn, and wounds still sting, but then she smiles back - small and shy, and so Alice that your heart aches in your chest - and you feel like you can breathe again.

It’s dumb and maybe even too far, because you aren't sure how this thing between you both works, but it’s worth a try when you open your mouth and say, “You can stay. The night- I mean, if you want.”

The sky's getting darker by the minute, Charlie’s on a hunting trip, and you’ve turned your phone off to prevent any unwanted messages from Jacob or anyone else you can think of, but Alice is different. Alice is here and she’s smiling again and she’s glowing, and you wonder what it must be like to contain so much light.

Again, you are not sure what you are expecting from her, but when she smiles and shrugs, lets herself fall closer to you on your bed until your legs are just barely brushing, and says, “Sure, sounds good to me,” you think something in you blooms.

You don’t tell her that every time she smiles it’s like a seed she’s planted in you sprouts, or that her laugh makes your chest ache in the good kind of way, or that when she looks at you, you forget the ocean for a little bit and day-dream about drowning in her instead.

You don’t tell her because this is nice, and the unspoken thing between you both has been tested enough for tonight, and possibly even too worn for wear, so instead you allow yourself a small chuckle and lie back beside her, allowing your hands to brush when you move.

The sun has disappeared and your view of the ocean with it, but for the moment you can’t bring yourself to care, or tear your eyes away from her’s.

The ocean calls, still, but her eyes hold you in place - ground you where you needed something to grasp onto before - and you don’t know if it will help, or if it matters at all, but before you can think about it you find your lips forming the words, “Thank you,” and finding you mean it.

Alice smiles back, because she very rarely doesn’t these days, warm like the sun and sweet as the candy you ate earlier, and says, “You are welcome, Bella Swan,” with such conviction that you want to laugh.

Instead you smile, pull yourself closer and close your eyes, and allow yourself fall into her where you held back before.

You fall asleep to the sound of her breaths before you can bring yourself to wonder if she’s making them just for you.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. Comments and Kudos are much appreciated, and I'm rhymesofblue on tumblr.


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